ad only just traced out
one that she thought was from Germany, when a servant-man came in, and,
with the start he gave her, she dropped the letters, which he picked
up, swearing at her for having untied and disarranged them. She told
him that she believed there was a letter there for her mistress; but he
only swore the more, saying, that if there was it was no business of
hers, or of his either, for that he had the strictest orders always to
take all letters that arrived during his master's absence into the
private sitting-room of the latter--a room into which I had never
entered, although it opened out of my husband's dressing-room.

I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter. No,
indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth to live
among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques had
stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never missed Valentin--that
handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my salon? Poor fellow!
he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the village he had put an
end to himself, but those of the household knew better. Oh! I need not
be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where; but with such people it
was not safe to upbraid or insist. Monsieur would be at home the next
day, and it would not be long to wait.

But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the
letter. It might be to say that my father was ill, dying--he might cry
for his daughter from his death-bed! In short, there was no end to the
thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no use for Amante to say
that, after all, she might be mistaken--that she did not read writing
well--that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my coffee cool,
my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with impatience to
get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at home. All the
time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first reasoning, then
scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that if I would consent
to make a good supper, she would see what could be done as to our going
to monsieur's room in search of the letter, after the servants were all
gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was still, and look over
the letters; there could be no harm in that; and yet, somehow, we were
such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the face of the household.

Presently my supper came up--partridges, bread, fruits, and cream.